


Various shenanigans

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Fatherhood, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:37:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2494736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>framby asked : "My kid hates your kid" AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bewitched Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [framby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/framby/gifts).



> And I just ran with it ^^

“Avenge me, father!”

Stiles looks up from the cutting board like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Joe doesn’t have his dramatic tendencies, usually.

But kudos on the entrance, kiddo.

Joseph runs into the kitchen, sending his backpack flying across the floor and Stiles simply cocks one eyebrow at him before his son goes to pick it up with a properly chastised expression on his face—the same pout than he has, with Lydia’s ferocity as a super extra layer—and exaggeratedly goes to put it in a corner.

Stiles nods with a smile and Joe climbs on one of the kitchen chairs, his little feet tapping a rhythm against the middle bar of it. “What needs avenging?” he prompts, returning his attention to the cauliflower he’s cutting—grown-up Mac’n’cheese for dinner, seems appropriate if his baby boy needs his help.

“I hate Hale.”

Stiles snorts. “As you should, you should aim for Heaven.”

Even with his back turned to him, Stiles can hear his son rolling his eyes at him. “Daaaaad,” he groans, and Stiles raises one hand—accidentally, the one holding the knife—to apologize.

“What’s an Hale?”

“Lina Hale,” Joe replies mournfully. Stiles looks over his shoulder, and his son is frowning and pouting while he picks at the shredded cheese Stiles has prepared in advance. “I hate her.”

Oooh. They’re at that crossroad now. Stiles sighs and dumps the cauliflower into the pan on his right before pulling a chair for himself. “What happened?”

Joe sniffs and Stiles is instantly alarmed. “She—she—“

If that little wrench hurt his baby, Stiles is going to repaint the classroom with her intestines.

“—she keeps on taking the red pencil even if I already said I needed it!”

Stiles tries to go for the diplomatic approach, he really does. “Did you ask your teacher for another one at your table or tell her what is going on?”

Joe gives him a first-class, patented Stilinski tired glare—Stiles’s father must be so proud—and huffs. “You mean, Ms. _Hale_?”

“Damn,” Stiles whispers, and Joe nods towards the Swear jar. “Aw, come on, Sonny boy, it’s not a real swear!”

A firmer nod towards the jar, with two fingers lifted in addition.

“We taught you well,” Stiles grumbles, before throwing two coins in the jar with an accuracy he never managed while in high school.

That’s parenthood for you, he supposes. Back to the topic at hand.

“Do you want me to have a talk with Ms. Hale?” he offers, all the while praying for a massive negative answer.

Cora gives him the heebie jeebies.

But God bless his son, Joe shakes his head. “That wouldn’t change anything,” he says dejectedly, and Stiles already plans a trip to the ice cream parlor tomorrow after school to give his son something to smile after school. “But maybe to his dad?”

Forget the ice cream.

“You think her father would do something?” Stiles asks and Joe nods enthusiastically.

“He never takes what Ms. Cora says for gran—for grat—”

“For granted?”

Joe nods once more. “He would believe you.”

There is so much hope and admiration in his eyes that Stiles can’t fight it.

“If you say so,” Stiles says with a sighs, missing Lydia just a little bit. Even if she was only Joe’s biological mother, she would have been far better than him at talking Hale Senior into a shameful submission and apology.

—-

The next afternoon, Lina seems a little bit too eager to leave school as soon as she spots her daddy waiting for her at the door.

Derek knows that he doesn’t come every day, but still, he’s not that much of a treat, even for his little princess.

“Did you have a nice day, asarlai*?” he asks as he picks her up and sits her on his hip. She wraps her little arms around what she can reach of his neck and nods.

“Let’s go, daddy, let’s go!”

Derek frowns at her. “What have you in such a hurry?”

Lina bites her lower lip, her front teeth just as prominent and cute (Erica’s opinion on the subject, irrelevant) as his. “N-nothing daddy.”

A cocked eyebrow and then she sighs. “I’m in trouble.”

“Mr. Hale?”

Derek frowns at his daughter before looking towards the male voice who called him.

_Jesus Christ on a cracker, hello there._

“Are you Lina’s father?” the man asks, his hand clasped in a little boy’s who alternates between glaring at Lina and looking at his shoes.

Derek nods and sets Lina back to the ground—little girls who are in trouble don’t deserve Daddy hugs. “Derek Hale,” he replies, and they briefly shake hands.

“Stiles Stilinski,” the man provides with a crooked smile before schooling his feature. “It seems like we have a little situation on our hands.”

“Do we?”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Your daughter is being mean to my son.”

“Tattle tale,” Lina mumbles, and the little boy’s glare is back, his eyes the same amber shade as his father’s.

“Lina…,” Derek says tiredly, but it looks like Stilinski Junior is not done fighting.

“Witch.”

“Joseph!” Stiles exclaims, looking at his son like he can’t believe this happened.

“She is!” Joseph retorts, snatching his hand away to cross his arms over his chest. “And Ms. Cora lets it happen because Lina is her little pet.”

“Am not!”

"Are too!"

“What exactly happened?” Derek asks, already looking forward for a little chat with his sister.

“She stole the red crayon, again!”

“I needed it!”

“You drew _fisses in the sea_!”

"The Red Sea!"

"There are no _fisses_ in the Red Sea, dummy!”

"You’re the dummy!"

From the corner of his eye, Derek sees Stiles biting his lips—no doubt to keep a laugh from interrupting them—and he’s not that far behind. But the flush on Lina’s face doesn’t announce any laughter, nor does the new shiny quality in the little boy’s eyes.

“What were you trying to draw?” Stiles asks Joseph, and the little boy wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, closed in a little fist.

“A strawberry field,” he says before letting out a hiccup that makes Derek’s heart hurt. “Because it’s Pappy’s favorite song.”

“Oh Joe,” Stiles says, picking his son up before turning the most judgmental glare at Derek and his daughter.

Derek kind of wants to cower a little but Lina doesn’t look repentant at all.

“Lina, apologize,” he says firmly, exchanging a look with Stiles to let the other dad know that he’s on top of this.

He also tries to convey how much he would like to be on top of _all this_ too, later.

But Lina shakes her head. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You upsetted Joseph and for no other reason that you don’t know how to share,” Derek insists, voice stern and with a growl coming up.

That seems to get Lina’s attention. “Share?” she asks, looking truly confused—Derek knows beter.

“Alright missy,” he says, reaching for her hand, “we’re going to have a very serious discussion at home. I might call Mom.”

Lina opens wide eyes. “Not Mommy,” she whispers and Joseph’s hiccup finally stops, a little giggle escaping him.

When Derek looks at the father and son pair, they have the same air of innocent pride on their faces. “I’m sorry for all of this,” Derek finally says before being struck by inspiration. “Maybe we could give them both a lesson in sharing with a playdate?”

“Would you like that?” Stiles asks Joseph, and the little boy plays with the strings of his father’s hoodie before replying.

Derek admires the way he seems to think it through to come up with his answer.

“If I get the red crayon,” he whispers, loud enough to be heard, but keeping his eyes on his father’s chest.

“Lina?” Derek turns to his daughter who is still sulking. “If we invite Joseph and his father for a playdate, will you let him have the red crayon?”

“If he says please,” she replies, her voice a perfect imitation of Erica’s snarly sweet tone.

Jesus, he doesn’t deserve that.

“Tomorrow afternoon?” he asks Stiles and the other man nods.

“Here, enter your address in my phone,” he replies, pulling his phone from his pocket and passing it to Derek. “We’ll bring _punchkis_.”

Derek has zero idea what it is, but he agrees nonetheless, typing along before handing the phone back.

“See you tomorrow then,” Stiles says, jostling Joseph on his hip before smiling at Derek and walking away.

Derek only moves from his spot—observing the way Stiles’ ass looks in those jeans—when Lina nearly pulls his arm out of its socket.

“Daddyyyyyy!”

—

“Do you want to know what your daughter did today?”

_“Do I?”_

“She harassed a little boy.”

_“Good girl.”_

“Erica!” Derek growls over the phone, the three of them knowing that Lina heard her mother’s comment.

Dammit.

“And I got Daddy a date, too!” Lina shouts from her chair. Derek winces as his eardrum rings, from both her shout and Erica’s sudden laughter.

 _“Did she now?”_ Erica asks, her wolfish smile perfectly audible. _“Oh, the kid’s father?”_

Derek grunts and Erica claps—she actually claps—on her end. _“My daughter the matchmaker,”_ she coos before clearing her throat. _“And what do you have planned?”_

“Finger painting and lemonade,” Derek deadpans, only making her laugh harder.

 _“Is that what it’s called these days?”_ she asks, and when Derek makes an interrogative noise, _“ **finger painting**?”_

“Erica!” he says, more than a little bit shocked. “No need to be crude.”

_“Sorry, ‘Rek, sorry.”_

You’re so not sorry.”

_“I really am not.”_

Derek sighs, but he still smiles at the prospect of the next day’s afternoon.

—-

Stiles works all evening to make the perfect punchkis, fluffy and light and sweet—Joe even agrees to help make the jam, but he still looks worried.

“What is it, Sloneczko**?”

Joe sighs and looks up at him through his thick eyelashes—God his son is going to be a magnet in a few years. “Do you think it will be alright?”

Stiles thinks about it while he pipes the jam in the last donut before holding his piping bag in front of Joe’s face, and his son obediently opens his mouth wide.

“You know,” Stiles replies as he presses the jam into Joe’s mouth, “I think Lina will learn how to share if you play with her. Don’t you want to be her friend?”

“I do,” Joe replies with his mouth full.

“Good—then just like we taught Pierre how to share, we will show Lina the way.”

Joe’s nose wrinkle at the thought of his almost cousin—Scott and Allison’s kid has been a nightmare in his early years—but he still nods. “Sure will Paps.”

—-

Five months later, when the new bestest friends gang up on their fathers to lock them in Joe’s treehouse, they’re not sure if they have to punish them or thank them, but Stiles is far too busy climbing a different kind of tree to really ponder it.


	2. Treehouse Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five months later you said?

Derek can tell that Lina is hiding something.

He also knows that this _something_ has something to do with one auburn-haired boy, but as far as he’s (officially) concerned, it’s her problem now.

The playdate has gone pretty well—the first and the second and the third ones, as a matter of fact, and now it’s a weekly occurrence to see the Hales at the Stilinskis’ and vice versa.

It’s comfortable, this routine they have found to teach their respective kids some values.

Lina learns how to share and that she’s not the planet’s overl—overlady.

Joe learns that you cannot get what you want with a pout and a guilt-inducing sentence.

Lina teaches Joe how to play “Für Elise” on his guitar, and in exchange, Joe teaches her how to make jam with fresh fruits.

And Derek is ever so grateful for it—freshly cooked apricot jam on his birthday toast definitely tasted better than the canned one. He’s not so sure that Stiles is grateful for Joe’s new passion for playing classics on the guitar.

The two children seem to have buried the hatchet, and Derek can relax with Stiles.

In the privacy of his office, Derek grants himself the luxury of sighing like a thirteen year-old at the thought.

Stiles.

At first, the man seemed so protective of his son that Derek didn’t think he would let anybody in.

A bear protecting his cub.

But then Stiles must have recognized the same streak in Derek’s behavior, protecting his daughter with everything that he had, a wolf surveying his pack, and another layer had come to light.

A lighter, younger one, flirtatious and playful and so damn attractive that Derek doesn’t know how to resist.

The worst part is that Stiles doesn’t seem to be aware of how truy _devastating_ he is for Derek’s sanity. And Derek isn’t sure he wants him to stop.

Anyway, back to Lina and her mischievous mischiefs: recently, Derek has spotted her in deep conversations with Joseph, but the moment he makes himself known, they couldn’t stand further apart, like they can’t stand to share the same air.

They’re too young for any kind of … under the belt shenanigans—Erica is dealing with that one because there is no way in Hell that Derek will have the Talk with his baby princess—but it makes him extremely suspicious, but he still doesn’t see it coming.

At all.

Completely blind-sided by his longing looks thrown at Stiles behind his back—and what an interesting back it is.

—-

“Daddyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”

Lina’s scream shakes the house and Stiles is at the door before Derek, practically tearing the door from its hinges to get to his backyard.

“Where is Joe?” he immediately asks, and Lina, face covered in tears, points at the upper branches.

Joe is sitting on a branch, far too high for Stiles’ comfort, an armful of pinecones next to him as he throws them at Lina.

“Joseph Longinus Stilinski!” Stiles shouts and Derek mouths _‘Longinus?’_ to himself, completely bewildered. “You get down here immediately and apologize!”

Joe’s only reply is to throw a pinecone right between his father’s feet.

Stiles growls under his breath, and Derek berates his libido for reacting as strongly as he does.

“You are so dead,” Stiles whispers before jumping at the ladder that leads to the tree house perched on Joe’s branch.

Derek looks at his progression, torn between feeling sorry for Joe and feeling horny because what a view, when he remembers that his little girl is still under attack, and he rushes to her side, brushing her tears away and kissing the top of her head and every little scratch he can see.

Now that he thinks about it, there is not that many scratches, even if Joe seems to have the best aim Derek has ever seen.

“You should help Shtiles,” Lina whispers and Derek frowns.

“You’re sure?”

“Joe won’t come down easily,” Lina says with a long-suffering sigh.

Derek tilts his head to the side—that is the understatement of the century, if Joe’s shouts of “you can take my pinecones but not my freedom” and other variations are any indication.

Forgoing the ladder, Derek easily climbs the tree and lands on the floor of the treehouse right behind Stiles who is walking towards the window to go and catch his son, when a clanking sound shakes the little caban.

Derek looks at Stiles, and Stiles looks back at him, and they both rush to the entrance of the treehouse.

Down to the ground, Lina and Joe are rolling the ladder to neatly put it away before clasping their hands and skipping to the house.

“We got fooled by our own kids,” Stiles says, voice heavy with a sense of betrayal.

“The little miscreants,” Derek mumbles and Stiles lets out a surprised sound, between a wordless exclamation and a giggle. “What?”

“Miscreants?” Stiles repeats, fully laughing this time, and Derek feels himself blushing. “There is no swear jar in here, you can say that they are a couple of little shits!”

Derek wants to kiss that giggle off of his lips. “A couple of pieces of shit?” he tries—it’s been six years and three months since he let himself swear for the last time, it feels almost foreign. “Little fuckers!”

“That’s the spirit,” Stiles says, clapping his back. But instead of retracting his hand, Stiles’ touch lingers between Derek’s shoulder blades and Derek chances a look at the other man. Stiles smiles at him, shy and tentative and not entirely convinced of the reality of their situation.

And Derek’s resolve not to do anything about it, not to involve Stiles in his life, not to get involved with Stiles, melts under the warmth of that smile.

He turns slowly towards Stiles, careful not to jostle his hand from his back, and reaches for Stiles’ cheek, pulling him closer to him.

The whole thing feels like it’s in slow motion, but when he starts kissing Stiles, it shifts to fast forward.

One moment they are softly kissing, discovering the way their lips feel against each other, and the next Stiles has his legs wrapped around Derek’s waist, Derek’s back is against the treehouse’s wall and his hands are cupping Stiles’ ass while Stiles buries his fingers in his hair.

It’s too fast, too much—it’s perfect.

And if neither of them can look at the treehouse, after that, without getting a blush on their faces and a boner in their pants, well, nobody needs to know.

**Author's Note:**

> * Asarlai means little witch (in a Hermione Granger way) in Irish
> 
> ** Sloneczko means Sunshine in Polish


End file.
